Hello, dear readers. This week, as an interlude before our grand finale in the Q&A series, I have a special treat for you: a short story I wrote in my Advanced Fiction Workshop class earlier this year. You will see that it was quite obviously inspired by my own marriage to my Misfit Toy, but I obviously exaggerated some things. (I’m only a week away from finishing my B.A. in Creative Writing & English!) Enjoy!

Diamonds

Kelsey wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. She’d only been here an hour and was already tired. Dishes clattered in the kitchen behind her. Her feet ached and she just wanted to go home. But Ryan had just sat a group at one of her tables, so she put on her smile.

“What can I get for you?”

Her eyes took in the oxford shirts and ties and categorized them as businessmen. She mentally calculated the tip she could expect and subtracted it from her daily goal. Too much left. These guys looked pretty straight-laced, so they wouldn’t be generous. She’d have to exert herself and mentally cursed her personality. The man on the end looked up to give his order and Kelsey’s mouth fell open a little. She caught herself in time. Dark brown hair and pale gray eyes. The contrast was startling. Her day suddenly looked brighter.

A couple of weeks later, the same group came in. They must work nearby. Delighted that they were sitting in her section again, she put on her friendliest personality. She had never been good at the casual chit-chat the other servers could do, and too shy to say anything more than what her job required, she kept him in a fantasy bubble. She had several of these bubbles. Other girls read romance novels, but Kelsey imagined them. If his group had come in twice, they could come in again. She hoped they would.

And they did. It wasn’t regular, but often enough to keep her fantasy afloat. He always ordered a cup of hot water and an extra cup with his coffee and made almost a ritual of mixing the two in the empty cup.

One week, she forgot herself and instead of asking what he’d like, said “Coffee, hot water, and an extra cup?” His eyebrow went up. Her face went red.

“So-sorry—I didn’t mean to assume.”

Somehow she made it through the rest of their meal. Why was she so awkward? Why couldn’t she flirt like the other waitresses?

But for some reason, a fact she still marveled at, that little slip was what started it all. She knew it wasn’t her imagination that after that day, his group started coming more frequently—every Tuesday.

            After clocking out one night, she grabbed her purse and jacket from her locker. Wrapping up against the bitter January night, she opened the back door and stepped out. She always parked her car under a streetlight. Tonight it was just fifty yards away.

A shadow stepped out from beside her saying, “Kelsey.”

Her heart was in her throat and she hurried back to the door.

“No wait! Stop! I want to talk to you.”

It was the unusual coffee drinker!

“What do you want? How do you know my name?”

“Well,” he chuckled, “you do wear a name badge. And honestly, I’d like to see you at a table with me instead of always serving me.”

He smiled.

At her.

“Why me?”

His answer was enough, and she drove home with his phone number and a date for her calendar. Lying in bed that night, she smiled and replayed his hand stirring his coffee. The spoon clinked against the cup.

~~~~~

The sparkly earring I found in the carpet was an announcement that my husband isn’t who I thought he was. The day I found it was the start of everything.

            I was standing at the window in our bedroom. But I wasn’t looking outside. Our room made me so happy. The gray bedspread offset by the paler gray walls and the aqua drapes with a white gridwork. I had chosen a darker gray carpet to anchor everything together. It all satiated me. It was just like Annalee’s house, everything perfectly coordinated, only it was mine. Roughan let me do whatever I wanted with the house.

“You know, we’ve talked about painting the bedroom. What if I did it in light aqua—not too bright.” I patted the air down.

“You sound like you’re trying to convince me.” He raised an eyebrow.

“I am. You might not want aqua-colored walls.”

“Honey, I have too many numbers in my head to care. You could paint the walls with blood—I probably wouldn’t even notice. Do whatever you want.”

I plumped up the teal and yellow throw pillows and ran my hands over their velvety fabric. That little bit of yellow set off the teal and gray perfectly. 

            I remember the moment, because it was while I was rearranging the drapes that I felt it. Something metal was stuck in the edge of the carpet where it sinks down against the wall. My bare toe felt it. I bent over and picked it up. I felt a shadow, as if the sun had suddenly disappeared. This wasn’t my earring. I don’t even have pierced ears. It could only have come into the house with Roughan. My stomach was a stone.

I sat on the edge of the bed and held it in my hand and looked at it. It felt hard and spiky. This stone sparkled, very different from anything I would wear. The woman who wore this would be sparkly herself, friends with everyone. Like Annalee was. And very unlike me. Does he think I’m too plain? Not talkative enough?

The images flashed through my mind. A beautiful, shapely woman. Smiling and inviting with her body. And doing things I would never want to do. My skin prickled. My heart pounded in my ears. I felt sick. How could I ever stop thinking this? Wasn’t I enough for him? What have I done? He must not be happy with me to be having an affair. There’s no way he’d prefer my decidedly normal, flattish body to what some women have. How could I ever be free with him again, wondering if he’s imagining her?

Since he wouldn’t be home for several hours yet, I grabbed my fuzzy white blanket and curled up on the sofa to think. I have to find her. Find out who she is, what she looks like.

            The next day, after he left for work (always with a kiss goodbye), I got started. I had decided to go through all of his things. Except his laptop. He always took that with him to work, so I’d have to wait to figure something out for that. Coat closet first—his trenchcoat, some fuzzy, polar fleece jackets and a vest, a slick puffy jacket, and his high school letterman jacket. He was sentimental. That was one of the things I loved about him. I knew if he had one earring from this woman, he had to have the other or something else from her too. He wouldn’t have just the one thing. I felt inside every pocket, inside, outside, even the hidden interior ones. Nothing.

             I wandered into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. What next? If he was going to keep something small somewhere I never looked, where would it be? I looked around the room, at his nightstand with just his lamp and a coaster on it. I hopped up and pulled open the drawer, but it only held the book he was reading (something about personal finance), his phone charger, and some Tylenol.

I walked into our large walk-in closet. His clothes hung in his half organized by color. His shoes lined up on their shelves. What about his valet box? I knew it held his cufflinks and some pins from college, but an earring could easily blend in with cuff links. I lifted the dark red lid. Using a finger to move things around, I hunted for another sign of my husband’s unfaithfulness.

            Besides his cuff links, college pins, and a chunky lock-with-key (I wondered what this was), I saw the lavender button that fell off my blouse on our first date. I paused as I remembered.

            “San Francisco is so beautiful at night.”

We were walking along the waterfront after dinner at the Barrel House Tavern. I snuck another glance at him.

“Ah, you’ve just set me up. Now I have to say it’s not as beautiful as you or risk insulting you.” He smiled. “And I have no intention of insulting you.”

Oh my goodness, this wasn’t really happening to me! I fiddled again with the button on my blouse. I had been so nervous at dinner that it was already loose and now it came off in my hand.
            He thought it was charming and kept it as a souvenir.

 But I couldn’t let myself get sidetracked. If he was having an affair, then those memories had to go.

            There it was! I found it! I walked over to the window and looked at them both. The light sparkled and reflected in the beautiful yet cold colors. I knew these had to be real diamonds. What if he just stole them? They’re probably worth a lot. What if I’m being overly paranoid? I willed myself to believe it. Otherwise I’d have to find this woman. I knew there was one way to find out. Surely there’d be some evidence on his phone. But I could never get into it. Maybe there’s something on his laptop. He takes it with him every time he leaves the house. I had never really wondered what he does on it besides work. I had never had a reason to before.

Dearest Roughan, whatever are you hiding from me?

            During the pre-game show on Saturday, he opened his laptop. He always did double duty. I plopped down on the sofa near him, offering some of my popcorn.

            “Kelsey, you are one determined woman. You know I don’t like the kernel skins.”

            I laughed and scootched closer to him, putting a piece of popcorn near his mouth. He took it with a big chomp and then blew it across the room, which, of course, I found hysterical. Another reason to scootch closer. He grabbed my hand and made a big show of licking the butter off my fingers and then biting them, one by one.

            He started typing the password, and, pretending to watch the game on our giant TV, I watched him type. Fortunately, he’s not one of those super speedy typists, but it was still hard. I could tell it started with a capital letter, and then something at the end of the number row. Some other capital letters in the middle and ending with numbers. This was harder than I thought it would be! The next day I was able to tell the second letter is o and there’s another o soon after, and I was pretty sure the numbers were 979.

            “C’mere.”

He reached for me with his left arm and pulled me towards him. This was where I liked to be when we watched TV.

            It took several weeks of football games, Reader. Things settled into a routine of sorts. During this time, I’d often take out the earrings and look at them, turning them back and forth to catch the sparkles, thinking about this woman and what she would be like. Would she be bright and sociable like Annalee? Or would she be more like his mom? A hard woman would wear diamonds too. Eventually I felt confident I had his password. It made sense. But I waited one more weekend just to be sure. I might get only one chance at his laptop, and I had to be sure it would work.

            Dallas-Beats-Banks-1979

            Nobody could ever guess it, but I knew what it meant. He’d moved to Dallas in 1979 with his mom and younger sisters. She was divorced and always working. He grew up as a latchkey kid. She really made something of herself, and in the 1980’s that was significant. His mom is now CEO of a major bank.

            Now that I had it (and I wrote it down soon after to make sure I wouldn’t forget it), I wanted so badly to use it. But I waited. Since he took his laptop with him to work every day, the only time I could look at it would be at night while he was sleeping. I needed a plan in case he—oh, horrors!—woke up and saw me on his laptop. What would I say? No matter how I approached it, I couldn’t think of an excuse. It was a big risk, so I would just have to be extra careful and hope for the best.

            It took a couple nights until I woke up when I could tell he was solidly asleep—none of those little movements that indicate a light sleep. Easing myself out of bed, I crept down the hall, feeling the cold floor on my bare feet. My goal was the den where he kept his laptop. I closed the door but didn’t shut it all the way. Being careful when I rolled the chair back, I sat down. The smooth desk (I think he told me it’s mahogany) was cleared except for his laptop, a mug for pens, and an upright paper file—at a perfect 90-degree angle on the corner of the desk. I lifted the lid of the laptop and pushed the button to turn it on. After it lit up, the desk reflecting its light, I entered the stolen words.

What if it doesn’t work?

But it did!

While the computer came to life, I wondered if maybe I’m being too suspicious. What if the earrings weren’t from Roughan? What if they’re from one of his sisters? Although they don’t have enough money for real diamonds. Would Sasha have stolen them? Of the two, she’d be the more likely. But why would she be in our room? Definitely not a gift from his mom. They’re estranged, and he won’t talk about her.

            The desktop was ready. There were only two folders on his desktop—Business and Personal. I started with the Business folder: Estate Planning, Life Insurance, Market Investments, and a lot more. Oh geez, do I have to go through all of these? I guess I should.

I yawned.

Finally, after what seemed forever, I opened the Personal folder: Auto, House, Insurance, Investments, and Kelsey! He has a folder for me! Forgetting my purpose, I opened it to see what he’d have about me. Honeymoon, Photos, Vacations, and Wedding. I was enjoying the memories, clicking through the pictures he’d taken of me (there were even some of me sleeping) when I heard a noise from the bedroom.

            I froze.

            I held my breath.

            I heard the house creak.

            What am I going to say if he comes in here?

            After what seemed forever, I felt he had been quiet long enough that I was safe. I needed to hurry. No more daydreaming, Kelsey. I moved to his email.

In a saved folder, I eventually found an e-receipt for a storage unit. A storage unit? What? Why? We don’t have a storage unit. Our garage is plenty big. I jotted down the information on a piece of paper from the trash. When I felt I had seen everything, I closed it all down just like I had found it.

The desk went dark.

Curled on the bed watching the security lights filter through the drapes, I tried to solve the riddle of the storage unit. Why would he have a storage unit? What would he keep there that we couldn’t keep in our garage? Is this where he keeps things for the woman? Things she’s given him? Is she married too? I thought about how I could get the key. Think. Think. Then I remembered the clunky lock-and-key in his valet box! I hadn’t paid any attention since I was so focused on finding an earring.

            His alarm woke him at 5:00 as usual. I was still awake.

            “Baby doll, why are you awake? Did you have another nightmare?”

            I’m sure I looked ghastly. I’d only slept a couple hours before I had woken up to use the password.

            “Oh, it was awful, Roughan. It was another one about Annalee.” A fib, but believable.

            “Why didn’t you wake me?” By now I was in his arms and he was stroking my hair, over and over. I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to hold him tighter or try to wriggle free. He was holding me so tight.

            “I didn’t wanna wake you.”

            “You know I don’t mind. I want you to wake me. I don’t want you lying there scared when I could hold you. Okay?”

            “Okay.”

            It was so hard to wait until he left for work. He dawdled over his cereal and coffee-with-water, or at least it seemed to me. I didn’t know what to do, so I kept myself busy doing things in the bedroom. Sorting laundry and changing the bed sheets even though the cleaning lady would be coming Thursday. And feeling guilty—yes, guilty—for wanting him gone. But I couldn’t stop those images from intruding. As usual, he came to give me a kiss goodbye. Reader, it was awful. I couldn’t look in his eyes. I just hoped he didn’t notice. If he did, I’d blame it on the nightmare sticking around.

As soon as I heard the garage door closing, I ran to the window and watched until his car turned the corner at the end of our long driveway. Then I ran to his valet box. I opened the lid, looking among the contents again. Yes! There it was! I grabbed it and put it in my purse. Should I go now? Should I wait? What if he forgot something and comes home? I should wait a little longer. Like an hour. He’d be at work by then.

Exactly an hour later, I was ready. I had the address and number of the storage unit and the clunky key. I had looked up the directions. It was in the next town, about 30 minutes away. This seemed fishy to me. If he wasn’t trying to hide anything, wouldn’t the storage unit be close to home?

On the drive, I went over again all my possibilities—items from this woman, items for this woman. Maybe he has a secret, and these are things he doesn’t want me to know about him. Unless you grow up together, how can you ever really know someone? Ha ha, maybe he’s a murderer and this is where he keeps his dead bodies. Maybe he has things he’s ashamed of? Big purchases that he wasted money on? That would be pretty humiliating for a financial advisor. By the time I pulled into the parking lot, I didn’t know what I thought. But I knew there was still a woman who had worn those diamond earrings.

When I slid the door open and it banged up to the top, the cool air flowed out over my skin. The floor was smooth concrete, and the walls were corrugated metal. The only light came from the doorway, and it illumined—what? I was totally confused. What was this junk?

I saw a small pile of stuff in the middle of the floor. A plastic grocery bag placed next to a heavy tan canvas bag, like the military use. But it wasn’t his style at all. He’d never use this. Neatly folded inside the grocery bag were gloves, a long-sleeved shirt, a pair of pants, socks, and even shoes. All black. Shoes I’ve never seen him wear before. Again, not his style at all—basic black sneakers, the kind you’d buy at K-Mart. There must be some mistake. It couldn’t be his stuff. I unzipped the canvas bag, and inside it—a long dog leash, some rags, a small knife, and zip ties. Why would he have all this? What would he do with it?

I went cold.

Oh, God . . . I started to retch and darted outside to the chain link fence. In the dirt there I vomited. Must hurry. Put it all back. Close it up. Pretend nothing happened. Hurry. Hurry. Hard to do it, hands fumbling. Make myself slow down. Breathe deep.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

It was hard. I made myself be calm and look at everything, matching it up with how I first saw it. The neat pile of clothes (fortunately I hadn’t unfolded them) and the canvas bag. I had only opened it enough to see what was inside, so all I had to do was zip it back up. One last mindful pause going over everything, the floor, anything that might indicate someone else had been there. He’d notice. I slammed the door shut and slid in the bolt.

Now get out of here!

But I couldn’t go home. Not yet. What was I going to do and how was I going to do it? This changed everything!

I drove round and round until I ended up on a hill at the back of our town. It’s a steep hill. I parked at the top where I could look down on my little city. The green trees swallowed all the houses, but here and there the tip of a roof broke through. I saw the curve which was the creek, and on a normal day, I’d try to find where our house would be. Behind me were the open hills. They’re treeless and I’ve often thought they look so soft with the golden grasses covering them. But that day I had no room for thoughts like those.

Once I felt safe from being seen, the tears came. Without warning and without stopping for the longest time. Must think. Where to go? How to get away? I had to report him. I had to. But how? Go to a police station? That would be horrid, but I could do it. They’d ask me so many questions. But then what? I couldn’t come home again. What about all my things? He’d come find me. What proof do I really have? Clean clothes and some random things. Owning a knife isn’t a crime. Is that enough?

What if it’s not?

Then I’d have to live with him after he knows I thought he was going to murder someone! I can’t do it! If I turn him in, I’ll lose everything. How would I support myself? Where would I go? Oh no, I can’t go through that again! What am I going to do? There’s nobody to tell. I can’t tell his family. They’d never believe me, and they’ll have one more reason to think I’m crazy. He’d find out. Where to go? A woman’s shelter? No. I won’t do that. I’m all alone. Both my parents are dead, and I’ve never had many friends. Really just Annalee until—

~~~~~

UNIVERSITY PRESIDENT’S DAUGHTER FALLS TO DEATH

By Ronald Miller, The Chico Courier, Friday, November 28, 1991.

The daughter of CSU President James Gordon died on Thanksgiving after a fall from her third-story bedroom window. Annalee, 13, had been upstairs with her friend while the extended family were downstairs celebrating the holiday. Annalee’s friend, also 13, witnessed the fall. Police are investigating the incident.

~~~~~

Once I was back home, I started thinking with more focus. I wanted to get back into his laptop but daren’t risk it now. Maybe I could prevent him from doing it somehow. Oh, but the earrings! Maybe they’re not from a lover, but from someone he—oh, dear God.

On my own laptop, I started researching. I was obsessed with finding out who they belonged to. I had no doubt there’s another woman, only now I knew she’s dead. From what I know about murderers (I didn’t want to think about rapists—couldn’t go there—murder was easier), there’d be a pattern, something to link it to him. Look for recent unsolved murders. There were several—a homeless man, 7-11 cashier, and then . . . a woman. I read and something clicked in my head. I knew this was her. In the news sites, there was a story about a Cheri Lopez, 54 years, recent recipient of some major award.

She was president of a bank.

She’d been stabbed.

This actually calmed me down. He’s obviously got a type, and I’m not it. I’m not a corporate woman, and I don’t work at a bank. I don’t even own a pair of heels. I only own loungewear and jeans. When we go out, I wear flats. I’m not a strong woman by any means. I work in the background, and I stay out of sight as much as possible. And if he was going to murder me, wouldn’t he have done it by now? We’d been married for over four years, and we’d had some pretty bad arguments. Yelling and all that. I even started beating his chest once. That would’ve been the perfect opportunity.

Maybe they’d catch him before I had to decide anything. I let myself float on those thoughts. He’d get caught eventually. They always catch them—almost. So what if I don’t tell anyone? Then I could stay at home. And when they did catch him (and I’d make sure they did), I could still stay here.

That night I woke up terrified from a nightmare. I was standing on the top of a luscious island filled with palm trees watching all the animals jump off a cliff into the sea. Boats were scooping up all the animals. I knew I would be left behind. And even though it was a big island, somehow I knew I was the only living thing left on it.

I lay in bed terrified. A knife hollowed out my insides. I knew that feeling. That complete absence of love that happens when you’re truly alone. I remembered after my parents died. Tears streamed down my face and dampened my pillow. I had never been so alone before.

~~~~~

The monitors beeped, but I couldn’t hear them. I could see the lights though. Little red lights, like silent heartbeats. And all the wires and tubes and the plastic and the white. I kept my face as close to the glass as I could, willing myself to be inside with them. Just last week we had all been laughing and joking, talking about when I would join them for the next trip. And now. . .

Marburg virus works fast. At first they had thought it was just malaria, until the high fevers and then the nausea and vomiting. Even then they didn’t think anything was really wrong, just unfortunate timing of the flu. Traveling weakens your immune system. Everyone knows that. But then the bleeding started . . . I willed myself to stop remembering. They have to get better. They have to. I was finally going to go with them. 

They chose compassion over a salary. And look what it cost them. They were supposed to be in Tanzania. Why didn’t they stay? I knew why—Help! Help! Help us in the DRC! Of course my parents would go. Then quarantine. I pounded the glass wall.

Later, in the afternoon, I slumped in a plastic chair in the waiting room eating a frozen burrito I’d bought in the vending machine and microwaved. It was still partially cold.

“Ms. Denning?”

“Yes?” I looked up and recognized Dr. Song.

“Do you have a moment?”

“Yes.” I put the burrito down.

“I need to tell you that it’s not looking good. By the time they came to the hospital, they were pretty far advanced. We’re doing everything we can, but I want to prepare you.”

~~~~~

The pain tore me in two as I remembered. The pillow was soaked.

Finally, I felt empty.

Once I calmed down, I rolled onto my side to face Roughan. The security lights outside made it easy to see him. He never snores and except when he has a cold, always sleeps with his mouth closed. He was asleep on his back and his share of the blankets were still smooth. I can never understand how he can stay so still the whole night. His left arm was across his chest. He has such long, delicate fingers. Nobody would ever suspect him of being anything but an office worker. I wished I had never found that earring. I wished it with all my heart. I had been so happy before. Why did this have to happen to me? I have nothing without him. It’s not fair! I can’t go through that again. I had no tears left.

My first night parentless was also tearless. I lay on the carpet in my room. My bed had felt inconsiderate. I needed the rough acrylic against my cheek instead of my flannel pillowcase. Curled up in a ball, I stared at a framed photo of them. I hadn’t known such pain was possible. The entire center of my body had been carved out. I was empty. Completely empty. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even think. I could only hurt. When the sun finally started to glow around the shade, I was still awake. Broken glass was scattered on the carpet amid shreds of paper.   

            Reader, I stayed with him.

~~~~~

I hear the garage going up and know he’s home. He’s late tonight. Pushing aside all the thoughts I don’t want him to see on my face, I smile at him as he comes inside. He already has a smile on his face. His tie is off and his collar is open.

“You’re up late.”

“I couldn’t wait to see you.” I’ve been a very loving wife lately.

He winks and heads to the bedroom. I listen to the shower while I wait, stroking the brocade sofa cushion. When he comes into the living room, his wet hair spiky (the only time he’s ever disheveled) and wearing a white undershirt tucked into sweats, I smile at him again. This time with more meaning.

            He raises his eyebrow.

“What’s all this smiling for? Do you have something up your sleeve?”

Without saying anything, I walk over and climb onto his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck.

“I just love you, that’s all.” A kiss reinforces my words.

“I don’t think that’s all.” His kiss is harder and possessive.

“Unless it’s how much I want you.”

I see a spot near his hairline. He must’ve showered fast (rushing to get back to me?) and missed something. I wipe the red spot away. He lifts both of his hands, cupping them around my neck as he holds my hair back. I tip my head to look up into his eyes, and the light catches dazzling twin sparkles.

[MFT says: To clarify, none of these things were involved in my crime. But what I did do, I know I have brought her into a closer understanding of the darker side of humanity that dwells in all of us.]